The Lights
by katydidit
Summary: Despite what she was willing to admit to anyone else, she loved him still. But was it all for nothing? Standalone


Disclaimer: Nothing on ER belongs to me. The song "Fix You" by Coldplay also does not belong to me, though I have taken several small structuring liberties with the lyrics scattered throughout this story.

_When you try your best but you don't succeed_

_When you get what you want, but not what you need._

_When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep_

She rolled onto her back, staring with burning eyes up at the ceiling. Night had fallen, pouring darkness through the windows, casting dark blue shadows on everything. The events of the week weighed heavily on her mind, building a solid brick wall between her and anything remotely resembling sleep. With aching limbs, she threw the covers back, pulling a pair of jeans on and sliding her bare feet into old tennis shoes. There was nothing she wanted more at this moment, than to fall into the blissful oblivion that sleep afforded her, but if she was to be denied that, she would settle for a nice tiring walk around the city. She'd already been awake for forty-three hours—what was one more?

_Failure._

The ugly word flashed across the dark inside of her mind, bile-yellow. It was true, anyway. Lately, it seemed she couldn't do anything correctly. Couldn't save a dying patient. Couldn't keep the man she loved. Hell, she couldn't even sleep. She might as well be wearing a giant red "F" on her chest—F for 'failure'. For 'fucking pathetic'. She sighed as she stumbled down the stairs, tugging the door open.

_When you lose something you can't replace  
When you love someone but it goes to waste  
Could it be worse…_

The last thing she wanted to be was one of those women who let their relationships become the most important thing. Yet, somehow, he had snaked his way into her life—into her heart—and nothing, not even the words they'd exchanged in anger and frustration, would get him out.

Her footfalls were some of the only sounds on the street that night—probably because all sane people were at home, in bed. No traffic, no voices reached her ears. The sidewalks were populated only by the occasional transient or prostitute—the types of people who, at this time at night, were the only ones to come through the doors of the ER.

She passed a bar, pausing to study the door thoughtfully. Deciding that it wasn't worth it tonight, she continued, though she turned her head once to look back at it. She was out to tire herself tonight, not to drink herself into a drunken stupor. There was a difference.

_When high up above or down below  
When you're too in love to let it go  
But if you never try you'll never know  
Just what you're worth…_

She fought the urge to groan as it slowly dawned on her, where her feet had taken her. How did she even know the way? _It's alright,_ she told herself. _Just keep walking. Don't look at it._

Yet she couldn't help herself, as she passed the tall building. Her feet stopped moving, though her mind screamed for them to keep going, to spare her the torture of staring up into his apartment, imagining what kind of woman he had with her at this moment. She'd seen them all, or at least as many as she thought she could stand. She didn't even want to think about the ones even he had only seen once. The blonde at the end of the bar. Some cute redhead on the train. She liked to pretend that she didn't know why she cared—pretended that she wasn't in the least bit jealous, or even hurt that he had filled her place so quickly.

Who was up there now, she wondered. Was it a nurse, perhaps—a coworker he'd managed to convince to join him for drinks? Was it a stranger he'd found in the bar tonight? Her mind, now as traitorous as her feet, conjured images of his naked body, tangled in sheets and wrapped around another woman, both of them glistening with sweat and sighing with pleasure.

_Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones…_

This time she let loose the groan that ripped up from her stomach, dispelling the pictures as effectively as a hand waving through a puff of smoke.

She jumped when a light turned on in his apartment. What, did his lover have to be somewhere in the morning? She sighed, turning to continue walking. It had been a long enough day, a long enough walk. Surely she could fall asleep now. Her feet remained in place on the cool gray pavement—if she were less sane, or more tired, she would swear that they were laughing at her.

She looked up towards his apartment one more time. The light was still on, but something told her that he was alone. He wasn't shirtless—she could just make out the dim gray of his favorite shirt in the seemingly-bright light. She watched, morbidly fascinated, as he raised his arms above his head in a powerful stretch, then rubbed his face, gazing out at the street. He hadn't seen her—she knew because she hadn't felt his intense gaze on her yet. Moving quickly, and grateful for the fact that she'd donned her black shirt, which would hide her more easily against the backdrop of darkness, she ducked down onto the steps, wrapping her arms around her knees.

She should go home, she knew. She didn't even really know why the hell she had stayed. It seemed that she'd regained control of her feet—why not go home, try to sleep again?

_Tears stream down your face  
When you lose something you cannot replace…  
_

She knew why. Even to be on the streets, so near and yet far from his apartment, was comforting. Even knowing that he didn't want to see her again, knowing that she'd been replaced by a long line of beautiful women, to be near him, she felt a wave of content steal across her, and her eyelids shuttered closed. When she forced them open again, mere minutes later, she realized that there were cooling tracks running down her face, a stark contrast to the burning droplets gathering on her knees.

She was crying. It was definitely time to go home.

Yet, instead of descending the stairs to the street, she found herself walking up the last few steps to the door. Locked, she remembered with some degree of triumph. Now she had nowhere to go but home.

Luck intervened just then—though whether it was good or bad, was anyone's guess—as a man dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase in one hand, a large cup of coffee in the other—left the building, pausing in the doorway to allow her to enter. She nodded her thanks, through her tear-blurred vision, and mounted the stairs to his apartment. What was she planning on doing, sleeping outside his door? Or worse—begging him to let her stay?

The part of her that had been protesting against this whole thing began to quiet, as his door came into view. Behind that thin slab of wood, he was moving about his apartment, as evidenced by the light still streaming from the crack under the door. She stood in front of it, watching so intently the warm yellow light, that she didn't realize until it was too late that a shadow had been cast over it. His door swung open slowly, and he stood there, regarding her silently.

_I'm sorry_, she wanted to say, as she backed up several steps. _I didn't mean to come here. I'm going home…sorry to bother you. _ Yet she made no noises, save for one undignified sniffle, as she tried unsuccessfully to wipe away some of the tears. A finger on her chin raised her eyes to his, and she noted with a start that they were watching her with concern—not the harsh confusion and distaste that she'd been expecting.

"Abby?" came his soft rumble of a voice, from behind his sleep-thickened accent.

Upon the realization that, once again, she'd misjudged him, a fresh set of tears rose to and fell from her eyes, and she began to shiver from the sheer effort that she found it now took to stand. She turned her head and backed away from him yet again. _I shouldn't have come here._

But this time, he didn't let her retreat. His arms encircled her, pulling her to his warm body the way they had before, and she felt a familiar sense of comfort as he rested his chin on her head. She became aware of the fact that she was whispering desperate apologies into his chest, as arms around his waist pulled him still closer to her.

His embrace seemed to whisper back, wordlessly but making perfect sense, as he pulled her into the comforting light of his apartment.

_Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
And I will try to fix you_


End file.
